


Father to the Thought

by cazflibs



Series: The Glitches and the Glows [1]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set just after the events of 'Fathers and Suns', Lister's father leaves him a new message. Sometimes it takes a father's insight to help you see things clearly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The wish is father to the thought. - Proverb

 

The clues were all there. 

Six-pack of Leopard Lager - gone. Three-quarters of a bottle of whiskey - no more; most likely cast between the countless shot glasses that now littered the table and consumed in far too swift succession. 

Wedged awkwardly in his faithful shopping trolley, Lister rubbed some life back into his eyes with the heels of his hands. And no smegging memory of the previous evening whatsoever.

The vid screen was reeling with static, hovering in silent expectation with the words – “MESSAGE WAITING”.

Dad had something to say. 

Lister groaned weakly as he attempted to extract himself from the metal frame. Perhaps he was going to give him a ticking off for not doing his robotics revision. His bowels churned through the escapades of the night before. Or maybe encourage him to take up the smegging tuba now that his precious Les Paul copy was orbiting the nearest planetoid. 

Whether it be advice or reprimand, he definitely needed to hear it on a full stomach.

Lister had to take the lift two floors up to find some breakfast, but he didn’t care. Dispenser 52 did the best hangover-busting fry-up in the known universe and last night’s heavy session deemed it a medical necessity.

Both her fascia and tone lit up at his approach. “Morning, Dave,” she chided knowingly.

“Hey Fifty-Two” Lister grinned sheepishly, clearly rumbled. “You couldn’t rustle us up a bacon buttie with chilli sauce, could yer?”

The speaker buzzed with a chuckle. “Extra onions?” 

“Cheers, darlin’.”

Lister sighed gratefully, soothed by the dispenser’s gentle hum as she got to work. Despite the cracking hangover, his internal body clock instinctively knew that he was late for his shift in the Drive Room. It was something so deeply engrained that it had now become instinctive. 

He could piss Rimmer off in his sleep.

Lister grinned impishly, picturing the irritable flare of the hologram’s nostrils. He reveled in the lectures Rimmer gave him about punctuality and the importance of time-keeping. He beamed with silent pride each time he could snatch Rimmer’s attention away from his navigation calculations. 

Even if he cursed his name, at least it was his name he spoke.

******

“You’re going on report for this, Lister! Deliberate dereliction of duty is a punishable offence – ”

Rimmer’s words slipped into silence the moment he realised they were falling on deaf ears. The Sleeping Quarters were abandoned. 

The pen tabbed irritably against his Report Book. Scowling hazel eyes swept across the devastation littering the room that he knew to be inevitable, given the events of yesterday evening.

Last night’s schedule had dictated a designated “Rest Period” which he’d utilized by embarking on the next book on his reading list – Great Battles of History. His previous book - Sometimes You Have to Lose Before You’re Ready to Win - had been mysteriously flushed into space following the latest Engineering Exam results.

Last night, however, Lister had clearly been in one of those moods. The odd sideways glance from his book had shown that the man was making worryingly light work of his six-pack of Leopard Lager before deciding to embark on some unspoken mission to save Red Dwarf from the contents of their drinks cabinet.

It really wasn’t worth sticking around during these sessions. Lister would often descend into a level of drunkenness where he would appeal for privacy to use the video camera, and a slurred after-thought for a lamb vindaloo. This time, Rimmer hadn’t waited for his cue. He’d slipped out, unnoticed, to utilize another bunkroom further down the corridor.

Rimmer glanced up. Sure enough, the vid screen flitted with “MESSAGE WAITING”.

Hunting through the shot glasses and flicking away takeaway cartons with his pen, Rimmer located the remote control. With a cursory glance back to the doorway to check that he was indeed alone, his thumb hovered uncertainly before hitting ‘play’.

There was a burst of static before the picture cleared to show Lister’s sorry sight. Rimmer frowned. The man was so pissed out of his head he could barely able to sit on his chair. Downing a shot of something unidentifiable, Lister wagged a patriarchal finger at the camera. 

“You know what I’m gonna tell yer, son,” he slurred. “You’ve been sssssssmeggin’ about with it for months, and enough is enough.” 

Lister selected another shot, downed it, then jabbed the glass towards the camera.

“You need to tell ‘im, Davey boy. You need to tell Rimmer the truth.”

******

The bacon buttie was practically demolished by the time he got back to the Sleeping Quarters. Lister was licking the last of the chilli sauce from his fingers when he clocked his bunkmate from the doorway. He froze, mid-suck.

Two pairs of eyes regarded each other warily.

“Rimmer – ” The name was garbled from the thumb still half-wedged between his lips.

Eyes fixated on his mouth, the hologram’s eyebrow twitched into an uncertain arch.

“Breakfast,” Lister said in some semblance of explanation. “I was gonna go down straight after.”

An unintelligible noise escaped Rimmer’s throat before he tore his focus away from Lister’s mouth and back to the collection of shot glasses on the table. 

Lister approached slowly, cheeks flushing as he clocked the mess. It was pretty bad, even by his standards.

“Sorry, man.” He rubbed the back of his neck in apology. “Had a bit of a heavy one last night.” 

Amongst the graveyard of empty, fallen shot glasses stood a lone soldier. Rimmer plucked it out between his finger and thumb, inspecting the yellow-ish liquid with a curl of the lip. 

“It’s whiskey,” Lister assured. “I’m not that disgustin’.”

Still clutching the offending item, Rimmer sank down into the sofa. His silence bored into him. 

Lister rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Look, Kryten will help me sort it. You know, bit of Rasta Billy Skank to tidy up to? The promise of some ironing afterwards if he’s good? It’ll be like a trip to Disneyland for ‘im.”

Without warning, Rimmer threw back the shot. Swallowing hard, the back of his hand shot to his mouth until he felt it safe to exhale.

Lister’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline before crash-landing at the bridge of his nose. “Or you could – ” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Rimmer, it’s 11am.”

Rimmer hissed through his teeth. “11:27,” he corrected emphatically. “You were due on shift half an hour ago.” He stared, unseeing, at the empty glass. “I came to find you.”

Lister’s eyes locked on the glass as he set it back on the table again. “I know,” he said distantly. “Sorry.” 

He waited for what he felt like would be an appropriate amount of time before asking the question so obvious, it was surrounded by flashing neon lights and a horn that trumpeted ‘HELLO?’ every five seconds until someone appeased it.

“Um. Rimmer, are you okay?”

“Of course I'm okay!” Rimmer replied instantly, two octaves higher and three times faster than normal. “Why would I not be okay? Do I not look like I'm okay? I'm okay. I'm ooooooo-kay.”

Lister folded his arms as Rimmer leant forward once again, this time to grab the entire bottle. His eyebrow cocked as Rimmer’s trembling hand attempted the seemingly epic task of pouring himself another shot of whiskey into the nearest upright shot glass. The bottle rattled nervously against the rim.

“Smeg’s sake,” Rimmer whimpered. He slumped back in his seat and took a mournful swig from the bottle instead.

Lister blinked. Ooooooo-kay. 

Avoiding the metaphysical eggshells, he approached the sofa carefully. Rasta plaits slipped from his shoulder as Lister dipped his head in an attempt to snare the man’s gaze. 

“Erm – Rimmer?”

The hologram wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Hmm?"

"You wanna tell me what's goin’ on?"

“Gahhhhh, see - ” Rimmer seemed to deliberately labour over replacing the bottle cap, “ - I was going to ask you the same question.” He tapped the lid thoughtfully with his fingernail. "But I'm not entirely sure I want to know.”

“Well, maybe if you – ” Lister’s soft tone immediately hardened as he lit upon the vid screen. “Hey! I had a message from me Dad on there!” 

Rimmer nodded, unsteady. “Eloquent, as always,” he mumbled.

Lister scowled at him. “That’s supposed to be private, y’know,” he snapped. “It’s not designed to be some kind of public information broadcast.” He sighed as he tapped ‘Skip Back’ in order to replay the message. "He’s gonna give me a dressing down for not revisin’, I just know it.”

Alarmed, Rimmer quickly stood, features retreating to the realms of panic. “Well, that Drive Room isn’t going to man itself,” he said, stumbling over the words. “Plenty to be getting on with – ”

Lister knocked him back with a single glare. “The Drive Room can smeggin’ wait, Rimmer. Especially seeing as you seem to be so damned interested in watching a bloke getting a dressing down from his old man. Sit the smeg down.”

Wide eyes flitted left and right as they assessed the anger flaring in Lister’s gaze. Conclusion reached, Rimmer sank back down onto the sofa. Lister gave a reprimanding nod before hitting ‘play’.

Struggling back into his chair with an air of authority only known to the most deceptive of drunks, Lister addressed the camera.

“You know what I’m gonna tell yer, son,” he slurred. “You’ve been sssssssmeggin’ about with it for months, and enough is enough.” The Lister on screen selected another shot, downed it, then jabbed the glass towards the camera. “You need to tell ‘im, Davey boy. You need to tell Rimmer the truth.”

Lister’s adam’s apple plummeted hard into his stomach, scattering forth a flurry of butterflies.

Shit. SHIT. SHIT.

“You’ve been lyin’ to yourself for far too long. You only smeg about and wind ‘im up so you can get his attention, y’know.”

Lister willed his thumb to hit ‘stop’, but the remote quivered too violently in his hand for any semblance of control.

“Just admit it, David. You fancy the tight blue pants off of 'im.”

The Lister on screen swallowed back another whiskey. The Lister in the Sleeping Quarters merely swallowed. 

“Just tell ‘im how you feel, Davey boy. Don’t worry if you don’t know what to say. Just smeggin’ kiss ‘im!” Lister winked at the camera conspiratorially, a gesture rather wasted on its captive audience. “He’ll get the message pretty quick then, eh son?” 

Lister’s eyes closed softly. Rimmer took a hard swig from the bottle.

“So when you go on shift with him this morning, you need to just go for it.” Lister took another shot before wagging a reprimanding finger. “And I want to hear all of the sordid details later.” With a final flourish, he toasted the camera with a grin. “Good luck, Davey boy!”

And with that, he was gone. The drunken confessions of the previous night slunk back into static, leaving the room stone-cold, smegging sober.

Lister’s legs threw in their resignation letter and promptly left the office, leaving him to slump onto the sofa beside him. 

Both men could do nothing but stare straight ahead.

“Smeg.”

“Indeed.”


	2. Chapter 2

Galaxies formed and died in the silence that followed. Intergalactic empires rose and fell in the vast, charged nothingness that sat between them. 

Laughing nervously, Rimmer finally batted it away with a shaking hand. “You were drunk,” he surmised loftily.

Lister didn’t laugh. Instead, he gnawed his guilt into his thumbnail. It was a truth, but it wasn’t an explanation.

“Rimmer – ” he ventured.

“You were drunk.”

This time there was no theatricality. Rimmer’s tone had dropped far too low for levity to salvage it. Face sliding down his hands, Lister growled into his palms. 

“You weren’t supposed to – ” Metaphorical rug yanked from underneath him, he desperately scrabbled for the support of words. Finding nothing, Lister sighed, chest caved in mourning. “ - not like this.”

The awkward crackle of static from the vid screen hissed teasingly between them.

Rimmer regarded him strangely. “So what are you saying to me? That what he said - ?” He paused thoughtfully. “ - what you said is true?”

Hands still clutching the remote control, Lister’s gaze sank down to his lap. He hadn’t even had a chance to process these feelings for himself, let alone offer them up for anybody else to analyse. He was far too tired and far too hungover for this.

Feeling Rimmer’s expectant stare boring into his earlobe, Lister forced himself to look the hologram in the eye. At the very least he owed him that. But rather than feeling disconcerted, he found something in Rimmer’s unwavering look to be unassailably affirming. 

“Yeah,” Lister managed. He cleared his throat, trying to inject sincerity back into his words. “Yes.”

Their gazes locked for a moment before Rimmer cracked the combination and stole it back. He gestured vaguely to the bottle still clutched in sweaty palms. 

“Sorry, I – ”

Wounded, Lister looked away as Rimmer sloshed back another clumsy swig from the bottle. He knew all too well that the hologram only really drank (or smoked for that matter) on Christmas's, birthdays, or when under extreme pressure or panic. It was hardly a mystery which.

Lister fiddled mindlessly with the remote control. A sigh whistled through Rimmer’s teeth. 

“But you don’t like me.” His words were meant in protest, yet sounded pathetic as they tumbled from trembling lips. “We don’t get on. We – ” Rimmer shook his head, baffled. “Sorry – did nobody ever explain this to you?”

“Look, I know that we’re not exactly best mates – ”

“Only yesterday you intimated that I was as attractive as a cistern-sodden, dog-chewed bog brush.”

“ - but you know me better than anybody else in this universe.”

“Hardly,” Rimmer snorted. “Besides, seeing as the human race no longer exists there’s scant competition.” He cocked his head in allowance. “Save, of course, a certain sanitation droid who knows all your favourite meals and gets intimate with your smalls on a monthly basis.”

Lister wasn’t to be swayed. “You know about me plan.”

“Fiji is an absurd place to put down roots.”

He sat back with a smile. Far too easy. “How I arrange me pillows on the bunk.”

“I’d hardly call that arranging,” Rimmer critiqued. “You throw one down to the foot of the bed and drool into the other one.”

Eyes wandering in innocent abandon, Lister dropped his voice to a mere mutter. “Which bum cheek me mole is on.”

“You don’t have a mole on your – ” 

Two pairs of eyes snapped back to one another. Lister cocked a challenging eyebrow. Flustered, Rimmer flushed the colour of the ‘Dwarf. 

“It means nothing.”

“It means you listen to what I say. You pay attention to what I do.” A Cheshire Cat grin stretched out, luxuriant, across Lister’s cheeks. “That you have a sneaky peek when I get out the shower.”

Rimmer’s response was mysteriously lost as he swigged from the bottle once more. A slug that he cut short as Lister inched towards him. 

“Woah, what are you doing?” he squeaked.

Lister snorted in amusement. “What I’ve been told, for once.” He jutted his chin in invitation. “Kiss me.”

“I'm sorry - what?!” 

“Kiss me.”

A nervous laugh spluttered from Rimmer’s lips as he replaced the bottle on the table. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“I’m not asking you to think. I’m asking you to kiss me.”

Lister’s chest thumped hard to the bass of the ship’s engines as he watched Rimmer’s eyes dancing between his own and the door beyond. The man had faced countless battles and fearsome foes during his heroic secondment and this made him want to run?

He steadied himself with a breath, toes dangling into the precipice. Well, if he was going to take a flying leap of faith into the unknown, he sure as smeg was taking Rimmer with him.

Lister’s charged stare pinned the hologram to the sofa. “If you want to walk out that door, Arnold Rimmer, then go ahead.” His words suggested a choice but the tone signaled little option. 

Rimmer remained rooted. Leather on leather, gloved hands stalked across the sofa to close the final gap between them.

“Because, sure as smeg - ” 

Lister’s hands stalked closer.

“ – I am not – ”

And closer.

“ – going to stop.”

Rimmer's head swam dizzy; the snare of Lister's gaze inescapable. Entranced, he unknowingly wet his lips to say something in the vague region of sensible; then realised he had no words. 

Over three million years after the pair were first introduced, they finally met.

No insults. No arguments. For once, their interaction didn't need the security of syllables. The unfamiliar silence between them ensured that the breaking of the kiss was awkwardly audible. The faint, wet pluck of lips reluctantly parting seemed to chime in the reality of what the hell they were doing. 

“Well what do you know?” Lister chided, visibly flushed. “The universe didn’t implode after all.”

A pent-up sigh escaped without permission and Rimmer quickly cleared his throat to cover it up. His eyes darted nervously over Lister’s shoulder back to the open doorway.

“I should – ” he nodded in indication. 

Lister arched an eyebrow sharp enough to hook the man back by the neck.

“I've still got several items to complete on my daily goal kiss.” Rimmer shook his head, alarmed. “List,” he quickly clarified.

Fighting back a grin, Lister nodded, mock solemn. "Mm."

“There's the Pree incident report to write up, health and safety manuals to draft – ” His gaze drifted south to Lister's lips as the scouser slowly closed the gap between them. Chest burning white hot, his speech and defences began to falter. “ - and, um, calibrating the calibrations – ”

His eyes sank closed as Lister kissed him a second time, losing himself in the sensation. A tiny whimper clambered for escape. A shamed yet willful surrender. 

It was enough for Lister. He responded, slow yet eager as he plundered Rimmer's mouth. Tasting the whiskey strong on the man's tongue, he surmised he was clearly on the right side of drunk. Merrily emboldened but not too far gone to be taking advantage.

Suddenly he felt a hand pressing against his chest as Rimmer plucked himself away.

“The door – ” he gasped.

Lister’s nuzzled him back. “Nobody will come,” he muttered before reclaiming the hologram’s lips.

“Mmm -- but Kryt – ”

Rimmer’s words were lost as his mouth was commissioned for something other than talking for once. It was only a reassurance for show. Lister couldn’t give two smegs if Kryten walked in right in the middle of proceedings, dusted the sofa around them, then promptly left. The primal ferocity of his passion suggested that he’d been waiting for this for far, far too long.

Lips still locked together, Lister threw his boot over Rimmer’s leg and in one, swift movement, hoisted himself up to straddle him. It was a move concocted of half-dominance, half-desperation; a command, a plea for him not to leave. 

Whilst his tongue explored Rimmer’s mouth, Lister’s fingers mapped the curls of his hair; those once untameable locks that had calmed and receded with each passing year. An immortal youth sacrificed for the sake of his sanity. 

He could feel the buzzing warmth from Rimmer’s hands as they hovered uncertainly over the indefinable territory where thigh met buttock. Hands otherwise occupied, Lister began to rock encouragingly in his lap. Slowly they began to descend to brush the material of No Man’s Land. Almost. Nearly.

Suddenly Rimmer pulled away, as if spurred by a sudden sobering thought. “I can’t – ” he mourned, as if for something lost. “We – ” he fumbled, tears spiking the corner of his eyes. “We’ve – ”

He didn’t need to say the words for Lister to understand. So much history had happened between them. So much water had passed under the bridge. To now turn back and swim against the tide felt unnatural and disconcerting for them both.

“I know,” he soothed, pressing his forehead into Rimmer’s. “But don’t think. Just – ”   
His eyes sank closed in indication, mouth hovering millimetres away from his. Rimmer followed suit, pressing his eyes shut as he felt Lister’s hand slip south down his stomach until his palm rubbed across his now obvious erection. “Just – ”

Rimmer whimpered into his open mouth before latching onto his lips like a drowning man clinging to a life-boat. Lister kissed him back hard, reeling him in as the hologram began to squirm and buck under his touch.

It wasn’t long before the tight trusses of uniform suddenly became redundant. Flies fumbled open just enough for him to gain fuller access to Rimmer’s cock, Lister first began to stroke and caress, before building into a teasing, rhythmic pump.

Despite the awkward positioning and the desperate fumbling, the pair continued to press themselves harder and harder into one another. To keep so intensely and destructively close meant that neither risked looking the other in the eye. A single glance could destroy everything. Shatter the illusion.

Rimmer groaned appreciatively, finally losing himself in the moment. “Dereliction of duty in the name of personal gratification,” he muttered, quivering wildly. “Incredibly unprofessional - ” 

Half-buried in the shoulder of Rimmer’s smock, Lister’s eye peeled open in amused intrigue. For a man who always played by the rules it seemed that, for Rimmer, to actually break them was some kind of kinky turn-on. 

He may not be widely-read or scholared in speech; but no matter what angle or turn-of-phrase, Dave Lister was fluent in talking dirty.

Pumping faster and harder, he hissed through his teeth in mock-reproof. “We’re probably breaking all kind of health an’ safety protocols.”

Rimmer’s breath hitched in response, his erection beginning to twitch in readiness. “1472-B through to 1496-A,” he mumbled. His voice was trembling wildly, as though he were conducting a Health & Safety seminar during heavy turbulence.

Lister allowed a grin to surface, smug and strangely comforted by the knowledge that, as always, Rimmer could be undone by his own twisted sense of authority. 

Feeling the taut, tremulous strain of Rimmer’s shaft at mercy in his hand, Lister went in for the kill. “You wanna really screw with protocol?” he challenged. 

Lister pressed his lips against the soft folds of Rimmer’s ear. He could make the man buckle with just five whispered words. 

“Then screw a Third Technician.”

******

Precisely 452 floors below, Kryten was busy mopping.

As the mop swept back and forth outside the Hologram Simulation Suite, the overhead lights began to flicker intensely. Suddenly a power surge thrust its way down the corridor as Red Dwarf simulated – whilst crew member 169 stimulated – the most powerful orgasm it had ever been commanded to conjure.

The lights died momentarily with a satisfied hum before powering up once more.

After a thoughtful pause, Kryten tilted his head in a shrug, dipped the mop back into the bucket and resumed his duties.

******

Having reclaimed their positions on the sofa from not ten minutes before, the pair could do nothing but sit and stare once again. The only subtle clues that anything had even occurred between them were mussed curls and a suspicious flush.

“Smeg.”

“Indeed.”

The same utterances but with completely different contexts. This time the words slipped past lips that desperately suppressed a pair of guilty smirks. Lister shook his head, bemused. If he’d have known it was as simple as tossing out the rule book whilst tossing the man off, he’d have done it years ago. 

The static from the vid screen buzzed in wordless curiosity. He certainly owed his dad a debt of gratitude and a detailed account of what he’d inadvertently inspired.

Grimacing, Lister shifted uncomfortably. His erection still twitched for attention but he ignored its demands. The focus had been on Rimmer’s release – both literally and metaphorically – and he was happy to leave it at that for now. He could attend to matters later. There were other matters that probably needed to be addressed first. 

“So.” Lister threw out the word like the first move in a chess game. “What do we do now?”

It was a question he dreaded for fear of the answer. Indeed, the heaving of Rimmer’s chest settled into still silence at the words. Lean fingers drummed slow and quiet against the sofa’s leather, each tap carefully considered.

“I think – ” he ventured in a voice so low, Lister could barely hear it, “I’d like to screw with protocol.”

Lips pursed and wide-eyed, Lister risked a sideways glance. Yep. He’d definitely heard that correctly. Rimmer was also throwing him a sideways look, biting his lip in a thinly-veiled mark of innocence. A knowing smile tugged at both the side of Lister’s mouth and the fabric of his trousers.

Well. Perhaps he wouldn’t give his father every detail.


End file.
